Wilco- Lone Wolf 20

by Geoff Wolak

  ‘If he moves I might get a warning, I've offered good money to the mercenaries for information. What do you want done with No.7?’

  ‘Training. Know any good pickpockets?’

  ‘The best.’

  ‘Teach her, then some cat and mouse, house breaking, some climbing of buildings, and sniping. Get her an M4 with silencer and telescopic sights, and a Berretta, and a great deal of practise each week.

  ‘A scenario would be that she goes to Berlin, checks into a hotel and finds the mark, slips out and shoots him, then is seen on CCTV at the hotel as an alibi.’

  ‘I'll put something together.’

  I called David. ‘Do we have an opinion on the Congo?’

  ‘There are no strong feelings, it's in the middle of nowhere, and we don't have any interests there, and trying to stop them from fighting in the Congo would be like trying to bring peace to the Middle East. Next step might be Kosovo.’

  ‘Our new GPS tracking system is good, and the Intel team back here could see where we are at all times. Same system they use on ships.’

  ‘Would make it easier to rescue men that get lost, or wounded, but if we have their GPS position fixes they'll never get lost in the first place.’

  ‘Unless shot, wounded, no rifle, sat phone lost in the bushes...’

  ‘Well, yes, in that case they would get lost in the woods.’

  With the Wolves up in Brecon I had Echo on the new range again, gentle threats made to those at the bottom. Sambo was a good shot, but not brilliant, and he was not very fast. Henri was old and slow, but a good shot, Doc Willy getting better by the day. Dicky was not fast, but could shoot straight most of the time.

  Tobo called me at 4pm, as we left the range. ‘Major Wilco, sir, it be Sergeant Tobo here on the phone calling you.’

  I smiled. ‘Long time, Sergeant, are you well?’

  ‘Yes, yes, all is good, sir.’

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I speak to a man who was friends before, and he says that dee man offer good money for dee soldier, and dee soldier go to Ivory Coast ready.’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘I don't know, sir.’

  ‘Try and find out all you can.’

  ‘Oh. They ask for dee man who speak Kru, sir.’

  ‘Kru? Where do they speak Kru?’

  ‘In dee south of Liberia, sir.’

  ‘Thanks for the information, you'll get a reward. Keep asking around.’ Phone down, I shouted, ‘Get your jungle greens on, kitted ready for Sierra Leone, ready to move out!’

  A mad scramble followed as I ran towards the hangar. Outside the hangar I noticed an Intel captain. ‘Get inside and warn them, coup in Liberia imminent!’

  He rushed inside. I called David. ‘It's Wilco, and our friend Mgolo is recruiting men I think, ready for a coup in Liberia. My black Guinea soldiers say that men are being recruited for Ivory Coast, men who can speak Kru – the language of the south of Liberia!’

  ‘That doesn't sound good.’

  ‘Get me some transport, but don't have the men in Sierra Leone and Liberia put on alert, the coup leader will be watching. Have the teams in Mauritania flown over, landed at the mine in Liberia. That mine runway is ready?’

  ‘Yes, used by aircraft such as a Hercules.’

  ‘Move them quietly, labelled up as a training exercise, this guy is not stupid.’

  Inside, I asked for a contact number for the FOB in Sierra Leone. They looked it up and called the Duty Officers’ sat phone, and passed it to me.

  ‘This is Major Wilco.’

  ‘Captain North, how can I help, sir?’

  ‘Who's in residence?’

  ‘SEALs are here, SAS, Paras.’

  ‘Have the SEALs and SAS relocate to the mine in Liberia for an exercise, tell them that others will join them, a show of force in Guinea. They move in a few hours.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Phone down, I pointed at Harris. ‘2 Squadron and medics.’

  He stepped to a desk.

  I turned to Tinker. ‘The warlord in the Congo will move on Liberia.’

  ‘I'll get them on it now.’ He stepped into his office.

  To Sanderson I said, ‘Recall 14 Intel and the Wolves from Brecon, sir, fast as possible.’

  He stepped into his office.

  The Brigadier asked me, ‘Regulars needed?’

  ‘See who's in West Africa, sir, I asked for the teams in Mauritania to be moved to Liberia, and there's already a troop at the FOB in Sierra Leone.’

  I stepped out and called Mike Papa. ‘Mister President, listen carefully. Our friend in the Congo is recruiting men who speak Kru -’

  ‘Kru?’

  ‘Yes, and they are gathering in Ivory Coast.’

  ‘So he means to attack me.’

  ‘I need you to make plans, but his spies will be watching closely, so no sudden moves. My men are on the way. If he attacks, then maybe he has people close to you, I doubt he wants to fight his way along the road.’

  ‘No, that would be hard, so maybe again a ship comes.’

  ‘Be ready for a ship, but don't let them know you are looking. Do not trust your telephone either, don't use radios, act normal. I will be with you tomorrow.’

  I called Libintov. ‘It's Petrov. Have you heard of flights from the Ivory Coast to the Congo and back?’

  ‘There are many such flights.’

  ‘Have you heard of soldiers flying to Ivory Coast from the Congo?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ask around please, but carefully.’

  ‘Who is moving men?’

  ‘Warlord Mgolo in Chanjenge.’

  ‘Why would he move men from where he is?’

  ‘He claims his family has a right to rule Liberia, and he has some strong foreign backers.’

  ‘Ah, he wants the oil. I'll make some calls. But I have moved weapons for him, and he pays well and on time.’

  ‘I aim to kill him, sooner or later. Keep your aircraft out of Ivory Coast after tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning.’

  Inside, the Brigadier told me, ‘One troop in Mauritania, one in Sierra Leone, one at the mine in Liberia - but they were due to leave today. I halted them.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, and no official movement orders please, walls have ears.’

  ‘Meaning what? A leak in London?’

  ‘A leak … somewhere, sir.’

  ‘Jesus, more shits out there.’

  ‘Not what you think, sir, I'll explain later. And we have friends out there tipping us off.’ I stepped to Harris. ‘You run the show from here, no need to be in-country. When the Wolves get back, get them a plane to Sierra Leone, labelled as a training exercise. Connecting flight to the mine in Liberia.’

  Outside again, on the hangar floor, men coming and going, I called Colonel Mathews. ‘Sir, I'm organising some jungle training for the British Wolves in Sierra Leone, but would they like the American Wolves along?’

  ‘I would guess so, I'll check. And I just got a movement order for our people in Mauritania..?’

  ‘There's a small group of armed men up in Guinea, north of the mine with the long runway. Show of force, sir, because I heard the men were bored and complaining.’

  ‘Well, something for them to do, yes. You expect a shooting match?’

  ‘No, sir. I expect some staged action for the cameras, against ten badly armed peasants.’

  He laughed. ‘It all makes us look good, and Panama still gets a shit load of TV minutes.’

  ‘Talk soon, sir.’

  Inside, Harris reported, ‘Tristar at 10pm, regular run.’

  ‘Turf off the squaddies if need be.’

  ‘2 Squadron might be ready in time. Fingers crossed. Second plane could be ready for 10am.’

  ‘Put the Wolves on it, 14 Intel. I'll take Echo first.’

  I ran across to my house and got changed into my jungle stripes, webbing checked, crate made ready, a change of clothing in the crate, tins of m
eat in my webbing, water bottles cleaned out. When Graveson came in I had him drive me and my crate over to the apron, crate dumped inside the hangar.

  In stores, I grabbed a stretchy flysheet and some green bungies. With an ammo box open in the hangar, men loading magazines, I loaded four magazines and stowed them ready, bandolier and webbing in the crate. I checked my webbing pockets, spare 9volt batteries, and I still had fishing line.

  Rocko approached. ‘You … er … want me along on this?’

  ‘You keen to come out of retirement again, get yourself killed?’

  ‘Just as dangerous around here. Even dangerous to go fishing.’

  I stopped to consider that. ‘You can organise the FOB, but no long walks in the bush.’

  ‘I'll do that then.’

  ‘Go get ready.’

  He rushed off to get changed.

  The hangar was soon full, men checking kit and weapons in a well-tested routine, people helping Doc Willy.

  Crab approached. ‘We in on this?’

  ‘If the American Wolves join us, you come out. Wait a day, ask Harris. Load some magazines for us.’

  Swifty phoned me. ‘We're on the way down the hill, so what's the panic?’

  ‘Coup in Liberia. Get them ready for the jungle, 10am flight. I have our crate, but your spares are in it, socks and pants, and your puzzle books, some tins from the house.’

  The buses arrived at 8pm, police escort ready, a headcount done, teams checked, heavy ammo boxes loaded to the bus followed by the heavy crates.

  I had them line up. Moran and Ginger, Mitch and Greenie, Doc Willy and Salome, Rizzo and Dicky, Mouri and Swan, Nicholson and Tomo, Tiller and Brace, Murphy and Terry, Slider and Henri, Sambo, Rocko, our troop of regulars, Sasha and his team plus Smitty, Monster and Parker. ‘Check your tourniquets, you sloppy bunch!’

  At Brize Norton we met half of 2 Squadron, two flights of men, many on exercise up in Catterick, but our medics were here, Doc Morten greeted, all in jungle greens.

  I teased him, ‘In Panama we had proper medics, Americans.’

  ‘How were they?’

  ‘A total shower of shit, not ready for war, concerned they were in danger, and where's the toilet in the jungle?’

  ‘Took us a little while to get used to it, and it's a shock for any medic to live in a hole in the ground and have mortars coming in. So what's this campaign?’

  ‘Coup in Liberia, but keep that quiet. Walls have ears.’

  ‘Even here?’

  ‘Even here.’

  ‘We all watched the Panama campaign, and they were jealous. Sell-out Wilco working with the Americans.’ He shook his head.

  ‘I'm a whore, I'll work for anyone with a carrier battle group. You got one?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ he said with a smile. ‘That's not fair.’

  I stepped to Haines. ‘Your wounded OK?’

  ‘Skin graft will take a while, through-and-through will take a mandated period before they allow him back, but he will come back. Third man is here, so we haven't lost anyone.’

  ‘Watch that friendly fire, eh, keep your heads down.’

  He scowled at me as I greeted familiar sergeants and corporals, all asking what the job was.

  With only a short delay we finally boarded, the rear half of the plane hosting young soldiers. I walked back to them and greeted their officers; they were off to Freetown, a three month tour. I told them we were off for some jungle training, an excuse to get away from the British weather.

  Oddly enough, Salome was not sat next to me, I had newly made-up Major Moran on one side and the aisle on the other. I told everyone to sleep since we could see action off the plane in seven hours. I woke Rizzo, sat with his arms folded and eyes closed already.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I just wanted to say, sleep on the plane, be fresh when we get there.’

  ‘Yeah, no problems.’ He closed his eyes again as people smirked.

  Grabbing my seat, Moran noted with a grin, ‘You woke Rizzo just to tell him to sleep on the plane?’

  ‘Anyone else would have realised the joke, but not him.’

  A long seven hours later we landed in the dark, the estuary glimpsed, the shit little terminal all lit up, a few bored airport workers stood around. It was 5am, the dawn not yet with us.

  Down and stretching, we waited for the crates and kit, soon getting the bandoliers on, webbing, rifles checked and loaded, and I grabbed another three magazines. Buses sat ready, and trucks, tended by young British soldiers.

  I had the teams thread radios, and I spread them across two trucks and one bus, jeeps with MPs front and back, and we set-off east, a few lads in the backs of the jeeps – weapons at the ready.

  As we left the airport I could see two Chinooks sat idle on the deck and two French Pumas. I was happy enough that we were doing this at 5am, but would have been concerned if it was later.

  The roads were empty, the locals all quite sensibly tucked up in bed at this hour, only crazy people and soldiers moving about at this hour.

  We made it to the FOB in good time, no one shooting at us, but we drove past and on, over the bridge – Welsh Guards in place – and into Liberia, on to the main junction – now manned by Liberian Army units, and north twenty miles to the mine as the day brightened.

  Through a manned gate we opened onto the runway, an orange windsock now in place either end, and we trundled along the vast road come runway. On the right I could see regimented wooden huts, perhaps twenty, young black soldiers seen in neat blocks, and as we got closer to the concrete building I could see yellow portakabins, perhaps twenty as well, white huts near them, a few green military-style tents near the trees.

  The concrete building had received a lick of paint, a dozen jeeps parked up, a few trucks. The taller tower was also painted, and now offered glass, as well as a small radar spinning around. Faces peered down at us, men in white shirts.

  Down from the truck, I walked back to the bus as the men jumped down from the trucks, Haines sat inside with 2 Squadron. I told Haines, ‘Kit down, then get your men on the wire, some on the roof, expect trouble.’

  ‘Always,’ he quipped.

  A captain walked out to us and saluted Moran, then myself. ‘We have rooms inside, sir, some, and tents, some wooden huts.’

  I thumbed over my shoulder. ‘The black soldiers I saw?’

  ‘Liberians, sir, we're training them.’

  ‘The men I requested from the President,’ I said with a nod. ‘How are they?’

  ‘Good soldiers, sir, fit, not that smart. They have English lessons.’

  ‘2 Squadron will place their men on the roof and on the wire.’

  ‘We … expecting trouble, sir?’

  ‘Yes. But keep that quiet, and the trouble will be elsewhere anyhow, not here.’

  A sergeant led Echo to the wooden huts with their crates, officers to be inside the concrete building, and I found a dramatic change to the place. It now looked like a motel, and all nicely decorated in magnolia, a cafe and a bar available.

  Moran and I dropped crates, soon introduced to the man in charge, a fifty-year-old oil boss who worked for the UK Government, but he had a French counterpart here as well.

  ‘This place has changed a lot,’ I told him.

  ‘I saw how it was, and yes, nice now.’

  ‘How's progress?’

  ‘There's a team here who deal with the uranium mine, and several teams from various companies that are working on the pipeline and the drilling. The pipe has to be finished first and tested, or the oil has nowhere to go. Still, they are making good progress.’

  ‘UN here?’

  ‘Yes, for the uranium.’

  ‘Who's in the taller building?’

  ‘Oil company, the private contractors, at least the admin staff. Men have white huts, some stay in here, some in the town.’

  He led me next door, and up, odd looks given to me and Moran by the civvy workers. On the third floor we met the senior staff. />
  ‘Place looks nice now,’ I told them.

  An American began, ‘We saw film of what happened here. But listen, buddy, we expecting trouble here?’

  ‘No, relax, just a few groups up in Guinea frightening the villagers.’

  ‘They don't send you unless it's World War Three.’ He waited.

  ‘I have no intel on any planned attacks on this place.’ I held my hands wide. ‘What more can I say?’

  They exchanged worried looks.

  ‘Our Navy SEALs arrived yesterday, and your British special forces...’

  ‘Exercises, relax.’ He did not look relaxed. ‘So what do you guys do here?’

  ‘Roads and bridges, pipeline, port facilities. Drillers are up country but they come here for some down time.’

  After ten minutes of idle chat I went and found the SEALs, finding familiar faces, smiles, and rude greetings, questions of Panama.

  I led their lieutenant outside. ‘Say nothing to anyone outside your team, but we think there'll be a coup attempt in Monrovia.’

  ‘We go down there?’

  ‘We will, and it may get nasty. Stay sharp around here, post men, because if the coup soldiers know we're here they may want to come for us first.’

  ‘There's a coup in progress?’

  ‘Planned coup. We'll try and stop them.’

  He nodded before I walked to the green tents, finding the SAS, two troop from ‘B’ Squadron, a familiar troop sergeant.

  ‘Here comes trouble,’ they greeted me.

  ‘Get your poker faces on, get ready for trouble, coup attempt down in Monrovia. But if they know we're here they may come here. Say nothing to anyone outside, no civvies.’

  ‘These local boys are crap,’ they insisted.

  ‘They can still spray it around and kill you,’ I warned them.

  I stepped along to the wooden huts, Rocko organising a stag rotation. I told him, ‘Four men near the access road, four men down the bottom river.’

  He called names and teams, the men dispatched as civilian workers went about their business, all glancing at us.

  My phone trilled. ‘Wilco.’

  ‘Colonel Thomas, Freetown. Major, you passed through without so much as cup of tea.’